


Berlin

by eggshellent



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Berlin Wall, F/M, I'm Sorry, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:37:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggshellent/pseuds/eggshellent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are as happy together as they can be in Germany during the early 1960s, unfortunately, an unexpected event causes a riff in their relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Berlin

11th of August, 1961, 11:00am

Holding his hand was the best thing I had ever experienced. It was like I was showing him how much I loved him without having to do anything much, like the perfect example of 'less is more'. What made it better, was that the way he held my hand in his showed me that he felt the same way, without him having to do anything much, either. This love of simplicity doesn't mean that we can't proclaim our love to each other in the most dramatic ways possible every 5 minutes, because we can, and we have, and we quickly learned that saying poetic things like 'Your eyes look like gemstones' and 'your freckles remind me of constellations', is not only extremely cheesy, but also starts to lose it's affect after a while. The only thing that I dislike about hand holding is that we can only do it in the privacy of our own homes, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to hold Jeans' hand while walking no where in particular. I guess I'm happy with just sitting on my couch examining his hands for the millionth time. I couldn't help it. His hands were sexy and quite possibly crafted by God.

"Marco?" He was laughing a little as he tried to grab my attention.

"Mmm?" I asked - or rather, hummed - in response, fluttering my eyes up to meet his for a brief moment before returning to the soft curve of his knuckles.

"Are you quite done with staring at my hands? I'd like to actually go outside today" He said, retracting his fingers from my own, resulting in some serious pouting from me. "Oh, no, don't give me that face, we're leaving this shitty flat, to roam the shitty streets of East Berlin, in search of something to do that will ultimately und up being-"

"Shitty?" I asked, laughing.

"Yes! Shitty!" He replied with amusement in eyes and a smile tugging at his lips. "Don't test me, Marco Bodt, I will will not hesitate to kick your Belgian ass". 

My eyebrows shot up, a grin still present on my face. "Oh, really now? You won't hesitate? Not even for a second?".

"Nope." he tried so hard to keep his face straight. So hard.

I scoffed, "Then fight me.". I looked him, dead in the eye, turning my expression as serious as I dared. "Right here, right now." 

He looked a little shocked, before a mischievous grin spread slowly across his - painfully gorgeous - face. "Okay, Bodt, I'll fight you. I challenge you to duel." he was leaning ever closer, and I couldn't contain my laughter as I moved back, against the couch.

"So, what will it be?" I asked the younger man, who had an arm and a leg at either side of me. "10 paces with a revolver at dawn? 'Till death or first blood?" 

If he wasn't blinking, I would of thought that his face was frozen in place. "I challenge you to a duel that is common, yet unconventional," big words from the writer, "I challenge you to what is usually named: A tickle fight" Jean finished. I couldn't help it, I laughed, which meant I was vulnerable, which allowed Jean to get in at my sides, starting one of the best duels I have ever had the honor to be apart of.

Just to say, I won in the end, Jean is extremely ticklish. You didn't hear that from me. 

 

12th of August, 1961, West Berlin, 9:00am

"MERDE," sometimes I get so angry, my French comes out. "QUOI ET OÙ VOUS ÊTES BAISE VA, IMBÈCILE!.". You can't really blame me though, the guy was so busy reading his bloody newspaper that he walked right into me, and I dropped my fucking waffle. That was my breakfast, I payed twice the usual amount just to get that fucking street food, and now it's lying on the city floor because of this dickweed. 

I almost felt bad about leaving the poor man confused and trembling without an explanation, I mean, despite living within the French sector, you don't often get people screaming at each other in French, and it's not like I had anywhere specific to be.

That's the good thing about being a writer, putting aside any deadlines that your editor gives you, you're free to form your work-life around your social life, and not the other way around. 

Unfortunately for me, I don't really have many friends outside of Marco, although, I guess you could say he's a bit more than a friend. So, despite having a job that allows you to be a social butterfly, I'm pretty much a work-a-holic anyway. When I'm not visiting Marco, I'm usually cooped up in my flat in Reinickendorf, angrily hitting the little buttons on my typewriter because I can't get a hang of Connie's character development or how to portray his shitty love for Sasha. It literally gives me a headache just thinking about those fictional little shits. 

"Getting a little angry there, horseface?." said an uncomfortably familiar snicker from behind me. God I hated how familiar that snicker was.

"A little ironic to be coming from you, Jäger." I turned to face Eren, who was unusually alone. He's almost always with Mikasa or Armin or both at any given time of day, the trio had been inseparable since childhood. Some see their relationship as cute or refreshing, others (like me,) see it as a little gross. 

"Bite me, Jean."  
"Eren, I'm taken."  
"Fuck you."  
"Stop flirting with me, I have a boyfriend."  
"This is why we can't be friends."  
"Because you won't stop being inappropriate? I agree."

Eren finally cracked and let out a small chuckle.

"So, where's Mikasa and Armin?" I asked. It felt strange. Being polite to Eren. We usually converse through short bursts of swears and insults, pleasantries aren't exactly in our vocabulary when speaking to one another.

"Mikasa's working at the Borders and Armin's doing research at the library for a University thing," Eren sighed, it might of just been a trick of the eye, but I thought he looked sad. "I'm by myself today."

If I'm being honest, I felt bad for him. He'd had a hard life. His Mother died in front of him when he was 10 and his Father ran off to Switzerland to escape the allied forces and became a wealthy doctor. He was orphaned, running around the streets stealing bread with his adoptive sister and his best friend, before he was taken in by an American soldier and his family. His life got considerably better after that, being the foster child of Erwin Smith and all, but I don't think he could ever quite shake off the trauma.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," I said, making a great deal of sighing as loud as I could, "but, do you want to hang out today? Seeing as I have no plans, and you're a loner.". I tried my hardest to look indifferent and cold; I couldn't let Jäger think I'd gone soft. 

I thought that my offer would of been met with a soft, teary-eyed confession of, 'Yes, Jean, I'd like nothing better than to hang out with you today', and for there to be a long speech about how he'd always thought I was much cooler than him and that he would never be on my level. You know, the obvious answer, but instead, it was met with a scoff and a loud rhetorical question of: "Why would I want to hang out with YOU? I may be alone, but I'm not so desperate for company that I'd hang out with animals."

Any other day, and I would of loved to see his retreating figure leave my line of sight, but today it was just offensive. I guess I should go back to my flat and work then, I had a general idea of what was happening, but it's really hard to turn the idea into coherent sentences worthy of a reader's attention.

 

12th of August, 1961, East Berlin, 10:00am

It must be really hard to turn an idea into a tangible item fit for the masses. For instance, the car that I'm putting engines into everyday, only recently recieved an update, which was the first big update since they started making the things in the 1950s. Another example is Jean's book. He's been working on it for a couple years, he never thinks it's any good. Just as I'm fitting and re-fitting engines, he's typing and re-typing a masterpiece, which is probably how he came to be so good with his hands. He's really good with his hands actually, he always knows where to put them, what to hold, what to strok- the engines Marco, focus on your job.

"Hey! It's freckles!," a chuckle said from behind me, causing a grin to plaster itself onto my face. I turned to look at my colleague, Reiner, who, as always, was sending a casual smile my way. He was perfectly normal but kind of really strange at the same time, he liked to call himself a 'warrior'. "I didn't know you were working today, don't you usually have Saturdays off?"

"Yeah," I sighed, mourning my usually-free-Saturdays, "but I'm covering some of Thomas' old shifts until they find his replacement" I frowned at the thought of him, he'd died in an accident handling some of the new machinery a couple weeks ago. 

"Poor Bastards" Reiner grumbled. I raised an eyebrow at him, "Bastard/s/, plural?", surely no one else died, that would just be horrific. "Yeah, poor Thomas for dying and poor Marco for having to pick up his slack" the burly German replied, and I laughed at his morbid humor.

"So, how's the boyfriend? Jean, right?" the Blond asked casually, as if being a homosexual wasn't extremely taboo. "Yeah, uh, he's good, thank's for asking," I wished I could keep the blood from rushing to my cheeks. "How's Bertholdt?" I asked.

"Still tall, still sweaty, and still practically a mute." Reiner laughed, "What was the nickname that you guys' gave him?" he asked, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Sweaty Giraffe" I laughed, turning towards him with a grin of my own, remembering the day Reiner decided it was 'Bring Your Boyfriend to Work Day'. He was as open with his sexuality as he could be without being fired or run out of town with a pitchfork, which wasn't much, but it was something. I really hope it could be like that for me and Jean one day.

Reiner scoffed, wide smile still plastered on his face. I liked working here, I really do. The Government had paid for a college education in mechanics, giving me qualifications enough to go out and become an engineer or to design my own technology, to become the kind of person who converts dreams to realities. I ended up taking this job in the car factory anyway, it had a steady wage and it meant I was still close to my family. 

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and I went home with a feeling of pure joy. Butterflies had invaded my stomach, and a smile had settled down on my face, making no intentions of movement clear. The Autumn air was brisk, but I felt almost too warm in my thin coat. This always happened when I knew I was going to see Jean; it's almost like a chemical reaction, the thought of him sends a flurry of messages to be sent from my brain to the rest of my body, screaming 'JEAN', and my body just... responds. Freckled cheeks present a red hue, beating heart pumps blood faster in my chest, a smile that could rip me in two appears on my face. The mere thought of the man with the built-in-scowl and the amber eyes sends me into overdrive, which, feels pretty good. 

I don't know where I'd be without him; I don't know how I'd cope. The thought of us being seperated in any way was unbearable, to say the least, and even being apart for just a day seems like a lifetime. 'What if I'm just really clingy?' I thought to myself, as I hung up my coat on the hanger next to my flat's front door. I wandered into the tiny bedroom and flopped myself onto my bed, still in the uniform overalls that I wear to work. I mulled over my initial question to myself, slowly falling asleep, before deciding that the clingy one was Jean, and finally drifting of into dreams about running away with the love of my life.

 

13th of August, 1961: Jean

Everything hurt. I fell asleep at my desk again, with my face pressed into the hard wood at an awkward angle, back painfully arched and hands crushed underneath the dead weight of my body. I groaned as I pilled myself up, feeling and hearing my back crack into place. It took me a while to remember my name and where I was, but I got there eventually; Jean Kirschtein, 25 years old, best person you'll ever meet, shitty as fuck flat in Reinickendorf, Berlin, Germany, it is August the 13th, Sunday, 9:40a- fuck. Fuck. I did a double take while checking the clock. I was supposed to meet Marco at the border at 10, I hadn't showered since I last saw him - hadn't really eaten either - but I had 20 minutes until I had to see him. Marco hated waiting at the borders, it made him nervous and made his mind think at 120 miles per minute and I didn't want my poor punctuality to cause him to feel that way. 

I hastily buttoned up a fresh shirt while brushing my teeth before grabbing a black tie and rushing out the door with it. 

'FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK' of course, I knew that screaming profanity at myself while trying, and failing, to tie my tie while on the run wasn't going to help the situation, but I did it anyway because, well, fuck. I was the one who set up the meeting in the first place, and now I'm going to be late for it, looking like a diseased, ferral animal that hasn't seen sunlight in years. 

This is a fucking disaster.

 

13th of August, 1961: Marco

I checked my watch as I rounded the last corner heading towards the borders, pulling up my sleeve to reveal the same silver worn by at least 50 of the workers at the factory. "20 to 10" I mumbled quietly to myself. Sighing, I took the liberty of continuing my audible commentary, "I wonder if Jean's already her-" 

"STOP! NO ONE CROSSES"  
"MY FAMILY IS RIGHT. THERE. PLEASE."  
"YOU ARE FORBIDDEN TO CROSS OVER TO THE WEST"  
"PLEASE, MY DAUGHTER IS CRYING, SHE NEEDS HER MOTHER, LET ME THROUGH, PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU"  
"WE CAN NOT PERMIT YOUR CROS-" there was a struggle, and then a deafening bang.

I could no longer move. I was stuck, staring at the chaos in front of me, desperately confused, and horrified by the image of the officer shooting a mother trying to reach her child. There was a make-shift barrier dividing the East and the West, going as far as my eyes could see. Barbwire lined both sides of the divider, a considerable amount of space between the two lines. I could see people trying to run across, and either getting stuck in the wire and arrested or shot on the spot. I stood there, as close to the monstrosity as I dared to go, for what seemed like a life time, listening to the cries of the people around me, and to the shouting officers. I looked towards the ground, too afraid to move. I looked up, and it was only when I saw Jean bound round the corner, furiously fixing his hair, did I realise that I was crying.

 

Jean:

This isn't real. 

That's what I wanted to tell myself, that's what I wanted to believe.

This. isn't. fucking. real.

There isn't barbwire running down the middle of the street. There aren't bodies being slowly pulled away. There aren't any people around me sobbing muffled tears of pure devastation. Marco isn't standing on the opposite end of it all, crying. It's all a bad dream. 

I looked down at my hands... and watched them shake, almost violently. I pulled myself out of whatever trance I had fixed myself into... and everything came crashing down around me. I could suddenly hear the barbwire being pulled and fixed to the ground somewhere in the distance. I could suddenly hear the shouts of command coming from the Communists over the barrier. I could suddenly hear the screams of both the physical, and emotional pain coming from all directions. I could suddenly feel the agony in my chest as I looked back to Marco, tears falling from my eyes.

I slowly stepped up to the divide, going as close as I could to the barbwire without getting caught, never once turning away from those big, sad brown eyes. I felt like someone had stolen my lungs, and ripped out my heart; a constant burning sensation spread through out my chest, nausea beginning to take over. 

The tears, still falling down my face, seemed to never end, constantly replenishing their supply of water from a source unknown to me, like waterfalls. I was confused, and angry and in a horrific amount of pain. 

"Marco?" I choked, his name falling out of me like a sob. "Marco? Is that you?" I asked, louder that time. I hoped he could hear my voice above the noise. "Marco.... Marco is this real?" it was hard to speak through the sobs. 

Through my hazy vision, I could see him nod. The tears still hadn't stopped. "What's happening? Why aren't you allowed to cross over?" I was so, horribly confused. 

Marco opened his mouth to speak, and found that he couldn't.. so he shook his head in response, telling me that he didn't know why this was happening either. 

I fell to my knees. Everything hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> So... I think it gets too intense, too quickly
> 
> If there are any inaccuracies about things that were happening when Marco rounds the corner, or at any point after that, feel free to tell me and I'll try my best to fix that :3


End file.
